Justice League: Dark
by sorahart
Summary: Amidst the forces of Heaven and Hell, a sinister plot is set into motion by a group of conspirators bent on the destruction of the human race. To combat this threat, a team of mystic heroes forms, reluctantly lead by Hawkgirl. Consisting of Zatanna, Jason Blood, Solomon Grundy, Deadman and more, can this ragtag group of misfits unravel the plot and save the human race?


**Warning: This story will contain some controversial content which I suppose could offend certain people. Most of said content is in a religious context. Please understand that this is a fictional story, and I have no intentions of degrading or undermining anyone's beliefs through their representation here. Still, if you think you might be offended by anything here, I encourage you to turn away and find something else to read.**

**Also, I want to mention that this story is not entirely mine… it is being co-written by my good friend and a fantastic writer in his own right, Broken Ben. The next chapter will be written by him, and we will continue to alternate as such to ensure frequent updates. Now that we have that out of the way… enjoy!**

Chapter One: Angels Fall

Gotham City was no stranger to the sound of police sirens. Bodies turned up daily, feeding the violent monster dwelling within the heart of the city; the immortal beast whose hunger and bloodlust was never sated. Commissioner James Gordon had dedicated his life to fighting it; to trying to quell the constant chaos and violence which threatened the city's people with every waking moment. Of course he understood that it was a battle he would never win; winning was never his goal. His goal was simply to keep fighting until the day he finally lost, becoming another victim to the monster that is Gotham City.

As Gordon exited his squad car, the stench of death assaulted his senses. Gordon sighed, disturbed by the familiarity. He had grown tired of fighting, but remained far too stubborn to ever surrender. Detective Harvey Bullock greeted him, an uneasy expression on his face. "Gordon, in all my years on the GCPD… I've never come across a crime scene like this one."

"You haven't been around as long as I have, Bullock. You might be surprised at the things I've seen," Gordon stepped past the detective.

"You got a cigarette?"

"Trying to quit."

"Well you might want to quit tomorrow. You're gonna' need somethin' to calm your nerves after this."

The duo approached the crime scene; a deep, smoldering crater in the center of an old parking lot. The lot was located outside of what had used to be the Gotham Christian Center. The building had been closed down and boarded up for several years; abandoned and left to rot. In a city where the most profitable markets are in drugs, guns and prostitution, a store that sells bibles and Jesus statues didn't last long.

"How did somebody dig a hole like this into solid concrete without drawing some sort of attention?" Gordon questioned.

"Trust me Gordon, that ain't the weirdest part of this. Check out the John Doe at the bottom."

Gordon peered down into the crater, and a mixture of shock and terror washed over him. Buried six feet in the ground was a naked man, lying on his back, legs together, arms spread… nailed to a cross. The man was covered in lacerations, blood painting his body, complimented by the mosaic of purple bruises. And in his chest was a gaping hole… where his heart had been forcibly ripped out.

"My God…" Gordon muttered, stepping back in disgust. "Who is this?"

"We don't know. Couldn't find any identification on the body."

"Well the symbolism in his death is clear," Gordon frowned. "Someone beat the hell out of this guy and nailed him to a cross. Sound familiar?"

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure nobody ripped out Christ's organs either. What's up with that?"

"I have no idea," Gordon shook his head, and looked to the closed down shop to their left. "I doubt the location of the body is coincidence, either. Before it closed down, this place was the Gotham Christian Center."

"We got some kinda' crazy religious nut crucifying people?"

"It's Gotham. Are you really surprised?"

To the East, the sun was slowly rising over the horizon, pulling Gotham into a new day. And then something bizarre occurred. As the rays of morning sunlight reached the mutilated corpse below, the body began to glow. Suddenly, hundreds of strange symbols appeared on his body, resembling hieroglyphs. Everything below the man's neck became covered in the strange written language, which shone with a radiance that rivaled the sun itself.

"What the hell…" Bullock stammered.

"Alright, now I'm surprised…" Gordon admitted, staring at the markings which decorated the man's torso. "Some kind of lettering that can only be seen in direct sunlight."

"What language is that? Nothin' I recognize."

"Not sure… Hebrew, maybe?" Gordon began to walk back toward his car. "I have a friend who might be able to shed some light on this."

"Batman?"

"No. Not quite." Gordon climbed into the driver's seat of his squad car. "Hey Bullock… you think I could borrow a cigarette?"

…

"For my next trick, I'll need a volunteer from the audience!" Zatanna Zatara announced, a smile on her face. She loved the thrill of being on stage, seeing the mystified looks of the crowd as she wowed them with only the simplest of magic. She'd started out as a regular stage magician performing parlor tricks; when her father, Giovanni "John" Zatara, had introduced her to the world of _true _magic, she quickly began incorporating it into her act, creating illusions that would be impossible for any other magician to replicate. It was her ticket to fame. Zatanna didn't perform for the money; she never cared about that. She was in it for the thrill.

"I'll take you up on that," a man in the audience announced, raising his hand. Zatanna was surprised when she recognized the face of her volunteer… James Gordon.

"Well isn't this a surprise. Ladies and gentlemen, our very own Commissioner Gordon!" Zatanna introduced her vibrantly, drawing applause from the crowed. "Step right up on stage Mr. Gordon."

"We need to talk," Gordon whispered as he stepped up onto the stage.

"Can it wait until after the show?"

"I suppose. You might want to wrap up quickly though… I have something I think is right up your alley."

"Got it," Zatanna gave him a small nod, and then looked back to the crowd, feeding off of their excitement. "Now I know it's a cliché, but who wants to see me pull a rabbit out of my hat?"

The cheers from the audience fueled her enthusiasm. Zatanna removed her top hat, reached in, and then frowned. "Well that's strange; I seem to have misplaced my rabbit. Mr. Gordon, why you don't you take a look?"

"I guess I could-" Gordon reached his arm into the hat, and then gasped, finding himself elbow deep in the hat. He pulled his arm out to find that it was gone… everything beyond the elbow had disappeared. "What happened to my arm?!"

"Hmm… apparently I forgot to feed my hat today," Zatanna quipped, drawing laughs from the audience. She grinned, "Hey Gordon, did you just feel a kick?"

"No…" Gordon replied apprehensively, "Should I hav- _oof!_" A powerful kick resonated from inside Gordon's stomach. He doubled over, clutching his belly, feeling a rapid squirming inside.

"There's my bunny!" Zatanna began to pat Gordon the back. "Cough."

Gordon coughed, and Zatanna tapped his lower back. Suddenly, a flock of pigeons flew out of Commissioner Gordon's mouth, flying off into the crowd! The audience shouted out in amazement, their cheers filling Zatanna with excitement. "Well that wasn't it," she said loudly, getting more laughs. "Let's try again."

Gordon coughed even harder this time, and a ball of white fur slowly tumbled out of his mouth. A rabbit landed safely on the floor, and wrinkled its nose at the crowd in the cutest manner possible. More cheers exploded from the audience.

The rabbit then turned around, squatted and, to everyone's amazement, laid an egg. More cheering. The egg began to wobble, and then the shell cracked. Within moments, the egg had hatched… and out crawled Commissioner Gordon's arm. "Well there it is!" Zatanna announced, picking up the arm. She held it up to Gordon's elbow where it had vanished from, waved her magic wand, and exclaimed, "_Hcattaer_!"

In an instant, the arm reattached itself to Gordon's elbow, good as new. The rabbit hopped back into Zatanna's hat, where it disappeared. Zatanna bowed to the audience, raised the commissioner's hand and announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, Commissioner James Gordon!"

The curtain began to close over the stage, doing little to muffle the rabid cheers of the crowd beyond. "You've been a great audience! Have a magical evening, Gotham City!" Once the curtain had closed, Zatanna took Commissioner Gordon backstage. "So what did you want to talk about, Jim?"

"You put animals inside of me," Gordon frowned. "_Never _do that again."

"Oh lighten up," Zatanna laughed. "The crowd loved it!"

"I'm sure," Gordon grumbled. "Listen… I have a case that I'd like you to take a look at."

"Really? Normally when you have a case, you talk to Big Dark and Broody. Is he not in town this week?"

"I have a feeling this case might be more your cup of tea," Gordon pulled a folder from inside of his coat, and set it down on the table between them. He opened the folder, revealing photographs from the crime scene.

"Whoa," Zatanna studied the photographs. "Somebody got crucified?"

"From the looks of it," Gordon nodded.

"Cool."

Gordon stared at Zatanna with a look of stern disapproval. "You think it's _cool _that someone was brutally murdered?"

"No, of course not. I just think the way it happened is interesting."

"Well, this isn't the part I wanted you to weigh in on…" Gordon withdrew a final photograph from the bottom of the pile. "When the sun came up, the light revealed some bizarre symbols on his body. Best I can tell, it's Hebrew, or some form of archaic Latin. I was wondering what you make of it."

Zatanna studied the photograph, her eyes widening as she looked over the glowing symbols across the man's flesh. "Good guess… but that's definitely not Hebrew or Latin," Zatanna said, disbelief weighing in her voice. "Who is this guy?"

"We don't know. We weren't able to find any identification on him. His DNA didn't match anything in the database, either. Why?"

"Gordon, this is Celestial Script."

"Meaning…?"

"This language predates the book of Genesis. This was the written language used before Creation, Gordon… the language of the Angels."

"Angels…?"

"Well, _probably_. There are two forms of Celestial Script; Angelic and Demonic. I'm pretty sure this is Angelic."

"Can you read it?"

"No, that's a bit beyond my ability," Zatanna shook her head. "But… I know someone who probably can. If you don't mind me taking this, I can show it to him…"

"It's yours. I made extra copies."

"Ok," Zatanna placed the photographs into her hat, where they disappeared into her own personal storage dimension. "I'm going to visit an old acquaintance of mine; he knows everything there is to know about the supernatural. If anyone can read this script, it's him."

"Let me know what you find out.'

"I will. But, Gordon… this is probably beyond you. You know that, right?"

"It usually is," Gordon sighed.

"This guy lives in England… I'll warp over there and talk to him. If I find out anything important, I'll tell you about it."

"Thank you, Zatanna."

Zatanna turned and faced the doorway to the back of the room. She touched the door and chanted, "_Ekat em ot Nodnol._" Behind the door, a portal to London, England appeared.

"Hey, Zatanna!" Gordon shouted.

"Yeah?"

"Before you go…" Gordon raised his arm, revealing that his palm was facing up. "You put my arm on backwards. Could you, maybe…"

"Oh, sure! Sorry." Zatanna grabbed Gordon's arm. "_Etator." _Upon Zatanna's command, the arm rotated back into its proper position.

"Thanks you Zatanna," Gordon nodded.

"See you soon Jim," Zatanna opened the door, and stepped through the portal, traveling to another country instantaneously. Once she was gone, the portal disappeared, and the door once again led out in the back alley.

"Yeah…" Jim sighed, "See you soon."

…

Shayera Hol hated being restricted to a civilian identity. Hiding her wings was such a chore. It would be so much easier if she could just be Hawkgirl at all times, flying wherever she wanted, doing whatever she felt like. Unfortunately, the rules of modern civilization called for a more grounded approach to life.

She had been putting much more effort lately into 'fitting in' among society. She craved the seemingly unattainable sense of belonging that her comrades in the hero community possessed. She wanted to be able to walk down a city street and actually feel like she was _supposed _to be there; to not feel like an alien among humanity. So she started with a shopping spree.

Shayera reached store counter with a bag full of clothes that she decided weren't too revolting, "I, um… want to buy these."

"Ok, just a sec," the clerk gave a preppy smile which highlighted her youth. She began scanning price tags on the clothes Shayera had picked out. The wardrobe she had chosen consisted mostly of ornate dresses that brought back distant memories of her past.

"Wow," the girl behind the counter spoke in her overly cheery voice, "You've got, like, an Egyptian style going on here. I'm getting a really ancient and decorative vibe."

"Um, yes…" Shayera smiled, pleasantly surprised that the girl had been able to make the connection between the clothes she had chosen and Egyptian décor. "What is your name?"

"I'm Trixi. I'm studying, like, fashion and stuff like that," she said enthusiastically. "This job is just to get me through college. I want to be a designer. What do you do?"

"I'm actually really good friends with this archaeologist… maybe you've heard of him, his name is Carter Hall?"

"Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

"Well, he's leading an ongoing archaeological dig in Egypt, and he's asked me to assist with the project."

"That's so cool! I've always wanted to travel, but, you know… store clerk. My salary doesn't exactly permit a lot of vacationing." Trixi finished ringing up Shayera's purchases. "That'll be $220.54."

Shayera fished out the money Carter had given her, making a mental note that she desperately needed her own Earth job. "There you go," Shayera paid in cash after counting carefully.

"Thank you, and have a nice day!"

"I think I will," Shayera turned and began to walk out the door. _Huh_, she thought, _That went well. I actually enjoyed talking to her. Maybe fitting in will be easier than I thought._

Suddenly, door burst open, flying off the hinges and throwing up a cloud of debris. A massive man wielding a battle ax burst in, shrieking in a voice that was in no way human. "Where is it?" He screamed, "Where is the abomination?"

"Ah crap…" Shayera muttered, dropping her bags. _Just when I thought I was going to have a normal day._

The store erupted in terror as customers flocked to the exits, screaming. The man began swinging his ax violently, destroying several clothing racks in a mad rage. _Can't let him hurt anyone_, Shayera thought. She closed her eyes, and willed her mace to materialize in her hand. She clutched the cold steel, and ripped off the brace hidden underneath her clothing, allowing her wings to spread out. She flew toward the man with miraculous speed, ready to swing.

"Abomination!" The man roared, flinging his battle ax. Acting on instinct alone, Shayera barrel rolled, avoiding the ax. Then, a scream of pain filled the air… and Trixi's blood spilled onto the floor. The ax had impaled Trixi, almost splitting the young clerk in half.

"You're about to _really _wish you hadn't done that," Shayera growled, driving her fist into the man's face. To her surprise, he barely even reacted. She felt a searing pain in her knuckles upon impact, and her punch simply glanced off of his jaw.

The man drove his fist into Shayera's stomach with impossible force, plowing her into the ground. "Die Abomination! Die!" He bellowed, unleashing a barrage of punches onto Shayera.

Each of his punches felt as if she were being hit by a train. After a few hits the face, Shayera's rage was at the breaking point. She raised her knee, and unleashed a powerful kick into the man's crotch. He grunted and stumbled backward, but again barely acted as if he had been harmed by the blow.

_His durability is ridiculous, _Shayera thought. _My punches hurt Superman, and this guy is shrugging them off like its nothing!_

The man pointed to Trixi's bloodied corpse, his dark skin gleaming in the brightly lit room. "She is only the first casualty in your name, Abomination of Heaven. Is this what you call righteous? Do you justify her death in the name of your bloodline?"

"What are you talking about?" Shayera demanded, "You killed her! Not me!"

"No, abomination. The weapon was mine, but the blame falls to you."

"You're insane…"

"Wrong…" the man's eyes began to burn, fire engulfing his gaze. A fire seemed to ignite underneath his skin, and smoke billowed from his muscular form. "I am Invictus, prophet of the righteous!"

"Yup," Shayera flew toward him. "Total lunatic!" Invictus swung a punch at her. Shayera veered out of the way and drove her mace into his jaw. This was her first blow that seemed to harm Invictus; he unleashed a wail of pain and flew back, smashing through the wall behind him and tumbling out into the hallway of the mall.

People ran for their lives, and a few of the braver mall security officers withdrew their tazers, and fired the prongs at Invictus. This had no effect on him whatsoever, and he glared at the security team with fury in his expression. "Insolent fools, burn in your sin!" A ball of fire formed in Invictus' palm, and he prepared to blast them.

Shayera threw her mace. The weapon collided with Invictus' chest and knocked him backwards, into the fountain in the center of the mall. He landed with a powerful crash, water pouring over him. "The abomination is strong," he growled, "But Invictus is stronger! Prepare to die for your betrayal, Heaven's Abomination!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Shayera shouted. "Why don't you calm down for five minutes and we can sort this out? Clearly there's a misunderstanding here."

"Lies from the Servant of the Deceiver, how unsurprising." Invictus unleashed a ball of fire onto Shayera. She held up her arms to cover her face, bracing for the heat, and flew upwards to avoid the brunt of the blaze. However, she found that the fire chased her upwards, climbing after her with an animalistic hunger.

The flames engulfed Shayera, and formed into a cocoon around her, slowly burning her away. Shayera screamed, trying to escape the flames, but they followed her everywhere she went. Soon the damage was too much, and Shayera tumbled to the floor. The fire wrapped around her, growing hotter by the second. "The fires of damnation consume you," Invictus announced, walking toward her with thunderous footsteps. "Now face your sins, abomination!"

Invictus grabbed Shayera's face and gazed into her eyes. Suddenly, Shayera was subjected to a horrifying montage of all her misdeeds; every wrong thing she had ever done in her life was relived in seconds, the fires around her growing hotter and hotter. All of her sins were shown before her, and she was made to suffer for each one.

Then, all at once, it stopped. Invictus backed away, a look of disbelief on his face. "You are not the abomination." Invictus waved his hand, and the fire around Shayera ceased immediately. "You live today, Shayera Hol."

Then, Invictus burst into flames. Within seconds the fire died, and Invictus was gone. Shayera collapsed into a heap on the floor, quivering. The psychological toll of Invictus' flame had been just as severe as the physical one.

Through Shayera's fading vision, she saw the faint silhouette of a man standing above her. "Hey sweetheart," he said with a thick Brooklyn accent, "Let's get you out of here."

…

Jason Blood spent the majority of his time in the library. He had bought a large castle in England, and made a home out of it. Every inch of the house was ornate and contained historical significance, but everything paled in comparison to the enormity of his book collection. Many of the books he owned could not be found anywhere else. Over his long, long life, Jason had absorbed a vast amount of knowledge from books such as these, in addition to personal experience. Which is why Zatanna chose to pay him a visit.

"I would have thought you'd go to Constantine for help before me," Jason mused as Zatanna entered the library.

"Constantine is an ass," Zatanna replied automatically.

"I seem to recall you saying the same thing about me just a few years ago."

"You're an ass too, but a different kind. Constantine is an obnoxious ass; you're just a pretentious one."

"I take you're still reeling from the breakup, then?"

"I'm not here to talk about John Constantine, Jason."

"I anticipated you would have a grander motivation," Jason walked toward her. "What can I help you with? And more importantly, why should I?"

"I have a feeling you'll be interested in this, Jason." Zatanna withdrew the photographs Gordon had given her from her hat. "Take a look at these."

Jason studied the photographs carefully, one by one. "Where were these taken?"

"Gotham City."

"I should have guessed as much. Gotham is the closest thing to Hell you'll find in this plane of existence."

"What do you make of it? The writing?"

"It's undoubtedly Celestial Script. Angelic, not Demonic."

"I know that. What does it say?"

"This particular dialect, I'm not entirely familiar with. Let me consult my books."

Jason turned and waved his hand, and as he did so a yellow glow appearing in his eyes. A book on the other end of the library began to levitate off of its shelf and float toward him.

"Impressive," Zatanna acknowledged.

"You're still using verbal spells, I take it?"

"Helps me concentrate if I say it out loud."

"Perhaps if you would focus more on practicing your skills, and less on turning them into parlor tricks, you might advance past the need to verbalize your incantations."

"Just translate the script."

"Patience, Zatanna."

"Not all of us are immortal, Jason. I can't afford to be as patient as you."

"Trust me when I say immortality is a curse, not a privilege. I would eagerly die if given the chance… life is tiresome enough when it _does _come to an end."

Jason used magic to rapidly turn the pages of the books he had summoned forth. He did not read the words; he _felt _them, conversing with the pages, searching for the knowledge he required. "Here we are…" Jason said after about a minute of skimming pages. "What we have here is a very early iteration of Angelic Script. Likely before the fall of Lucifer."

"I get it; it's old. What I want to know is how it wound up grafted onto the skin of a crucified Gothamite."

Jason began to translate from the book, comparing it with the script in the photographs. "It's mostly biblical scripture, as I expected. This man's entire torso translates directly to the Book of Matthew."

"Do you think that could be some sort of clue? Perhaps about the victim's identity?"

"Maybe. But more likely… oh. Well, this is interesting."

"What is it?"

"The symbol on this man's forehead… Zatanna, I think I just found out who this person is… and it's no surprise that the GCPD couldn't identify him."

"What do you mean? Who is it?"

"Are you familiar with the Four Hosts of Heaven?"

"Yes. There's the Eagle Host, The Bull Host, The Lion Host, and the Human Host."

"Exactly. The Eagle Host serve as Heaven's messenger angels, bearing messages directly from their higher authority. The Bull Host are the construction workers, they helped to build Heaven, Hell and Earth according to God's design. The Lion Host are the warriors, Heaven's elite soldiers. And the Human Host are what modern Christians would refer to as Guardian Angels… the Human Host are typically the only ones who interact directly with us."

"What are you getting at, Jason?"

"This is the symbol of the Human Host."

"Are you saying this man was… killed by a Guardian Angel?"

"No, Zatanna. This symbol is very sacred. It is impossible for any without divine affinity to replicate. This man was not killed by angel… he _was _an angel."

"What…?"

"A high ranking one, at that. From the thickness of the lines, it seems he was the leader of the Human Host. The chief guardian angel, so to speak."

"But… who could crucify an angel?"

"Someone with a deep knowledge of the occult," Jason Blood pointed to the hole in the dead angel's chest. "This worries me. The heart was not removed without reason. According to legend… each of the four Host Kings have a sacred incantation written on their heart. If all four incantations are collected, well…"

"What?"

"The description is vague. The legend only says that whoever gathers all four incantations will gain 'Apocalyptic Power.' What that means… I am not certain."

"So if this was the first of the Host Kings…"

"We can assume that the other three will be targeted."

"Jason… be honest with me. Someone strong enough to kill an angel… a high ranking angel, at that… could they even be stopped?"

"By forces on Earth?" Jason frowned, "Not likely. But I would need to find out just what we're dealing with to be certain."

"In that case," Zatanna turned toward the door, "I'd better find out."


End file.
